


Come Back To Me

by LocalVoid



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Dissociation, Escape, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Reibert - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2020-09-01 01:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LocalVoid/pseuds/LocalVoid
Summary: They have two choices; die here, or go home.After being pursued and consequently captured, only to be left to rot in isolated cells deep underground, the means for escape and the chances of ever returning home grow more and more slim.That is, until, an old friend decides she owes them a favour.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I don't abandon this one! I have a couple ideas of where I want to go with this in later chapters so I hope you enjoy! Sorry if my writing isn't all too amazing, I'm still getting the hang of it! Also Reibert can be interpreted either romantic or platonic in this particular fic (but leaning more romantic).

Time went by faster if he tried to stay awake for as long as possible. Seconds melting into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. If he had to take a wild guess, then it had to have been nearly two weeks since the last time he had shut his eyes for longer than ten minutes… or was it two months? Two years, maybe? Who knew. He was so tired that he couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think-- the space between his ears empty with such ferocious silence, lonely enough to bring whispers and shadow people into his chilly cell, or a murmur of his name, or nagging laughter.

Of course, he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and just... float away, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice in the matter. _They _always knew whenever he dared to shut his eyes, even if it was for just a brief moment. They _always_ knew, somehow. Always.

A metallic flavour burst suddenly at his taste buds as he ran his tongue over the fleshy holes along his sore gums. They must have gone for his teeth again-- he was too tired to remember. His eyelids were heavy, and it took all the strength in his body just to keep his head from lolling over and slamming onto the cold stone floor.

_No, I can’t fall asleep… I have to…_

He took his hand and piloted it to his left forearm, and he couldn’t help but feel like he was controlling a stranger’s body. And when he went to pinch a deep hole into his skin-- something he regularly did to keep himself awake-- it was only then that he noticed he was missing most of his fingers, steam barely beginning to rise from his bloody stumps.

Suddenly, there was an echoing shriek that ran down the corridor just outside of his cell, far too muffled to distinctly hear the string of words being cried out but clear enough for him to recognize the voice. His ears perked up for a moment, but he quickly shook his head with dismissal-- his mind playing tricks on him was not a new phenomenon. 

But then it came again. And again.

_Reiner…_

Bertholdt paused, and then the corners of his cracked lips raised into a hopeful smile, because it meant that _he _was still alive. He shut his eyes as the faint shrieking continued to penetrate throughout the stone walls of his cell. It was like music to his ears, really. He could almost fall asleep to it.

Back when they’d been captured and thrown into these cramped cells, he had been struck with utter terror-- bawling and whining like a small child each time they had burned him, or starved him until he was desperate enough to taste his own flesh, or doused him in scalding hot water until his skin began to slip, or the times he had been tied down fully conscious and dissected like a thrashing animal for their sick experiments-- the very same experiments they had refused to perform on Eren due to ‘ethical’ reasons and, well, Mikasa. 

At times, the patrol guards would visit off duty just to toy with him-- just to finally be able to proudly say that they beat, or humiliated, or made the Colossal Titan cry. Nothing was off limits in their cruelty, nothing was ever off limits if they wanted _ answers_, and he always seemed to get it the worst of the two. Perhaps… because he’s _ weak_. Far weaker than Reiner, who hardly ever made a noise apart from the occasional scream. 

His screams were a good thing, though. It meant that he still hadn’t told them anything. It meant Bertholdt had all the more reason to seal his lips even tighter. And as much as it hurt to be slit open like a butchered pig, to have his eyes gouged out, to be spit on, or drowned, as much as he just wanted to _ sleep _ more than anything in the world-- if Reiner was still _ screaming_, he’d scream even louder.

There was a crack at the door. Had it really only been ten minutes since the last check up? It felt more like ten years.

Bertholdt shuddered as the footsteps approached him, the click of the soldier’s heels bouncing ominously off the walls and herding him further into the corner. He truly hoped they wouldn’t interrogate him today of all days, because most of his teeth were _ gone _ and his tongue felt like desert sand-- he could barely talk even if he wanted to. He would have cried earlier merely to quench his throat, but all his tears had dried out as well.

His heart banged against the cage around his lungs, a _ thump thump thump _ so violent that he thought his eardrums might pop right then. He hugged his legs close and buried his head into his knees to prepare himself for impact, for his hair to be yanked or his clothes ripped from his back, but none of that ever came.

“You have a visitor.” The voice said, cold and unfeeling.

Cautiously, Bertholdt rose his head to face the silhouette of the man, dimly lit by the lantern he was carrying. He stepped aside to reveal another figure, his visitor, who although was of slightly wider stature seemed… rather meek. He wore tangled, blond hair that might have been styled short at some point but now hung down to his pronounced cheekbones, which only made it clearer that he hadn’t always been as skinny as he was now. But, the first thing Bertholdt had noticed were his eyes, dark purple circles surrounding a glimmering yellow. 

Once he saw those yellow eyes, he knew it wasn’t a trick of his mind. Well, he _ almost _ knew. There was one test he needed to do, a test to be _ sure _ that he wasn’t dreaming.

Bertholdt rose from the corner using all the might in his body, moaning and hissing in pain as he propped himself up for balance, his rags for clothes loose around his bony body. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry more than _ anything _ now, even more than sleep-- and he didn’t care if he had to force the tears out. He just needed to _ touch _ him, to feel his warmth, and to _ cry _ in it. Because that’s all he _ can _ do when he realizes he’ll never see home again, and yet a piece of _ home _ was standing right in front of him. 

No… not a piece. Reiner was the whole damn town.

“R- R’ner…” Slurring his words, he took a wobbly step forward, and he was scared. From the pit of his stomach, he was so damn scared because he thought he had forgotten what Reiner looked like, or sounded like, or _ felt _ like, and a part of him still wasn’t sure if it was real.

Every step felt like a lifetime, and before he knew it, he was in the boy’s chest, his arms locked tightly around him. Reiner’s lullaby heart bumped soothingly against his ear, so soothing that he was tempted to fall fast asleep right where they stood. The old blood and sweat seeped into the blond boy’s shirt truly smelt awful, but he didn’t care one bit, because this was _ Reiner_, this was _ home_, right there at his very _ fingertips_, and he wouldn’t know what to do if he ever let go.

Reiner… he wasn’t holding him back, though, and that’s all Bertholdt wanted right now; to be in his arms, where he could tell him in that reassuring tone of his-- the one that could motivate him of anything-- that they would be okay, _ he _ would be okay. But… he just stood there, like a statue. Bertholdt held him closer, if that was even possible.

“...Well? What’re you standin’ there for? Or did you forget our deal?” The guard snapped his fingers, irritated, “You said you were a _ soldier,_ like us. So prove it. _ That’s _ the Colossal Titan.”

Bertholdt’s blood immediately ran cold, the hairs at the back of his neck shooting up like pins. He lifted his head from the supposed warrior's chest and looked up at him in search of the same golden eyes that he had once known, the same glimmering yellow eyes from before, but… they were nowhere to be found. Instead, these... _ identical_, imposter eyes stared blankly into him, and before he knew it, he was on the ground.

Disoriented, his whole backside ached and he couldn't move a single muscle. There was blood rolling from his nose, and above him stood the towering figure of a _ soldier,_ whose locked gaze was what he could only describe as contempt. He wondered if this was what insects had to witness just before they're squashed underneath someone’s boot.

“R- Rein--?”

And like a wolf pouncing onto its prey, Reiner climbed on top of him, raising his balled fist for another devastating blow. The few teeth that Bertholdt had left came flying out of his mouth and onto the floor in a sticky pool of blood.

_ Smack... _

_ Smack... _

_ Smack... _

Like meat being tenderized, the sound of his skin and bone being pummelled echoed throughout the room, his vision growing darker with every vicious blow. Bertholdt shot up his hand, clumsily clutching onto Reiner's knuckles to catch them before they fell again. He couldn't see out of one eye, and his mouth was pooling with so much blood and saliva that he was choking on it. Reiner's face was still blank, those piercing eyes impaling right through him.

"R- Rein... er... y- you..." Bertholdt coughed violently, red spattering down his chin and neck, eventually melting into the collar of his shirt. "Warrior... we're... wa- warriors..."

Reiner promptly shot his eyes open, his breaths shaky and fast as he fell back with a horrified gasp. His skin was a ghostly white, as through completely drained of blood, and as he looked down to his stained and swollen hands, he couldn't seem to stop himself from trembling. "H- huh?"

The guard furrowed his brows, storming forward and kneeling down slightly, in earshot of the shaking boy, "Hey! Remember what you're here for!" He placed a firm hand on Reiner's shoulder, forcing his head towards him, "We need information from this _ monster! _ Remember what he did to us?! To _ you?! _ How are we ever gonna trust you if you don’t prove you’re a soldier?!"

"R- right... And… and then I'll get to see everyone again?" Reiner looked up at the guard with a childish gaze, crumbling underneath his grasp. “A- and you guys won’t… hurt me anymore?”

"That's right. You just need to get something out of him." The guard smiled warmly, a firm nod afterwards, "We're on your side, kid."

Although the swelling took up over half his face, the fading vision in his remaining eye was just enough to make out Reiner's head turning towards him once again, a look of daggers shot in his direction. His nerves froze to ice, and he tried to move, to do _ anything_, but his hair was already twisted in Reiner's grasp.

"N- no!" Bertholdt whined as he was dragged from his head, his scalp a searing burn as though it were tearing right off his skull. "R- Reiner, our-- ack!"

Slammed onto the ground again, a boot clamped down on his ribs, again, again, and again, until there was a sickening snap and a high-pitched yelp that followed after. Bertholdt huffed and wheezed, trying his damndest to catch even a single breath, "Our... our... hometown! H- Hometown, Reiner!" Tears began to prickle out from his eyes, leaving clear trails down his crimson-stained cheeks-- oddly resembling his unique titan marks. "We- we have to...! Please... r- remember…?"

A brief pause, but long enough to instil some type of hope into the beaten boy, that maybe Reiner had finally _heard_ him, but... 

Reiner was gone. 

And whoever stood unhinged in his place, wide-eyed like an owl, rose his boot again. Bertholdt squealed at the sight, pulling at the stone floor in a pathetic attempt to crawl away, as though he were mimicking an ant that hadn't been completely crushed and was left to drag its own mangled body behind it.

"P- please! I- I'm sorry, I'm...! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I’m sorry!"

An unyielding hand gripped mercilessly at the collar of his shirt and around his emaciated arm, hauling him onto his back again-- resulting in a pop from his shoulder and a noisy crack as a heel then crashed down onto his face.

Bertholdt shielded his jaw that felt as though it had shattered into thousands of tiny pieces, and let out a long, involuntary shriek of both excruciating pain and unspeakable terror. He was breathing so rapidly that a tingling numbness shot throughout his entire body, and just then, Reiner was mounting on top of him once more, his hands wrapped around his neck. 

"I'll te-- tell--!" He forced the words out of his mouth with a rattle, only to have his throat squeezed tighter, halting him from peeping another sound. 

And then, by some miracle, a wave of air rushed into his lungs. He gasped and choked, laying mutilated on the ground, unable to move, unable to breath without pain, unable to even blink. Everything was pitch darkness, he couldn't see a thing and he could barely even make a sound, but he heard the footsteps of the approaching guard, and began to cry. 

"What was that you were sayin’?"

Bertholdt paused, quaking uncontrollably. He wept noisily, and when he spoke, it was absolute gibberish-- slurred and incoherent with snot and tears and blood drowning his gargling throat. 

"Ah-- te-- ev’y-- thmph--!"

The man nudged his ribs with the tip of his boot, forcing out another yelp from the boy, "Oi. Speak up. Otherwise, we’re not done. I got all day for this."

"I'll--!" Bertholdt swallowed hard, and it felt as if he had just gulped down his own tongue, his swollen jaw throbbing with every word and forcing his voice a pitch higher out of the sheer pain of it all, "I'll t- tell y- you ev'rthing!"

There was a pause, his ragged breaths taking up all the air in his cell, and then, "Very well. I'll inform the Section Commander and we’ll schedule a little talk. It ain’t like you're much use right now, beaten to a pulp." He chuckled, moving in closer to Bertholdt's ear, a shrill whisper, "Remember what happened to you today if you decide to change your mind. You have no one anymore."

Whimpering, he could hear Reiner's footsteps fade farther away from him, a slap on his back, and then the man’s voice, "Good work, Reiner. We'll see about gettin’ you new clothes."

_Please... don't..._

_Don't leave..._

He cracked his eyes open as much as he possibly could, a pulsing pain throughout his entire face as a result, only to see the two silhouettes at the doorway with their shadows cast along the floor of his cell. Bertholdt had half-expected Reiner to turn around, turn around for one last glance in hopes that it'd snap him out of this, that it'd bring him back, and he’d _remember_. But he never did.

He only kept walking, with a gentle hand on his back that should have been Bertholdt’s rather than this _wicked man-- _ no, this _devil _that had erased the warrior he was.

And Reiner, after exchanging words with this _devil, _he simply… chuckled. He _ laughed _with the man. He _laughed_ as though he hadn't just beaten his partner half to death. There was an exhausted look of relief on his face, like he was _glad_ that it was all over, like his mission was _finally_ complete, despite the crimson stain of _ home _ splattered all over his face, and all over his knuckles.

The door screeched shut behind them, leaving Bertholdt confined in his lonely cage again, broken and littered with fresh bruises as he lie curled up at the edge of his cell. He bore just the single ability to keep his eyes closed and... _sleep,_ the muffled voice of a former warrior dwindling down the hall serving nicely as a soothing lullaby for when he finally gave into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, Reiner.”** **  
** **

The call came from directly behind him, a hint of curiosity hidden within the voice. He had heard them chattering and bickering for what must have been the past twenty minutes, so it was no surprise to him at all when the familiar voice finally called out his name. Frankly, it was only a matter of time before they forced him to join in. ** **  
** **

Reiner turned his body halfway around, a full view of the bald cadet in question, “Yeah?”** **  
** **

“How old even _ are _ you?” Connie inquired, the notes that rested before him practically null of any information despite them having just had a two hour lecture. Jean and Eren sat on both sides of him and rose their heads from their papers, seemingly interested in the soldier’s answer as well. ** **  
** **

“Fourteen. Well, almost fifteen now.” Reiner fed his curiosity, only to witness the three pairs of their eyes enlarge with shock. “...Why do you ask?”** **  
** **

Connie lunged forward with raised brows, both his palms slamming flat down on the table with a bang, “_Fourteen?! _ ” ** **  
** **

“Reiner, you never told me you were _ fourteen! _ ” Jean peeped from the side, sounding almost betrayed as absolute awe lingered over his face, “I always thought you were at least seventeen.” ** **  
** **

“Eh? Well, I didn’t think it was that important.” ****  
** **

_ Do I really look that old…? _ ** **  
** **

The blond cadet sighed, scratching his ear.** **  
** **

“You’re only two years older than us…” Eren muttered quietly as he sunk into himself, his fists clenched so tightly that Reiner worried the pencil in his hand might just snap into two pieces, “Damn it! I’m still not training hard enough…”** **  
** **

Jean rolled his eyes, brushing Eren away as he leaned down on his elbow, “Forget that! What _ I _ want to know is, what the hell do you eat to get that ripped?!” ** **  
** **

The gears in Reiner's head turned visibly as he tried to recall his breakfast that morning, “Well… you’re kind of putting me on the spot here," He contemplatively rubbed his chin, "You guys sit with me at lunch all the time, don’t you…? I just eat what’s there.”** **  
** **

“Pfft, yeah, right.”** **  
** **

Eren gawked at him with stars in his eyes, “Are you for real? That’s it?! Do you think I can sit with you today?”** **  
** **

“Wha-- of course.” Reiner began to sweat, “I- It’s really not that interesting. Er, I also do some pushups in my free time-- that probably helps.”** **  
** **

“Reiner, you’re a fat liar.” Jean whined, “The least you can do is help out your friends...”** **  
** **

“Huh?! I’m telling the truth!”

“Who’s making all that _damn_ noise?!” 

The four of them-- along with the rest of the twenty-something cadets rounded up in the classroom-- swung their heads in the direction of the bellowing roar, and there at the doorway stood none other than the towering instructor himself, his head nearly touching the frame at the top of the door. ** **  
** **

“It’s a nice day today, Braun.” He growled, his cutting eyes as sunken as ever, “Perfect weather for five hundred laps.”** **  
** **

“S- sorry, sir!” The oldest cadet cried out, “It… it won’t happen again!”** **  
** **

“Hmph!” Keith stepped into the centre of the lecture room-- which was now significantly more silent than before, so silent that Reiner thought he could have heard the ants crawling outside-- and he surveyed the audience of the sweating cadets before him. The instructor huffed, “Jean Kirstein. See my office for your review.”** **  
** **

With that, he marched back down the hall, and the room resumed to its quiet chatter.** **  
** **

“Well, time to pass some more ranks, just like last month.” Jean stood up, causing Connie to shrink with a cringe as his seat screeched against the floor, a smug smirk smeared on his face from cheek to cheek, “Ha! Watch me blow this one right out of the water.”** **  
** **

Eren scoffed, mumbling just loud enough for the proud boy to hear, “Blow what out? Your ego?”** **  
** **

“What did you just—?!“** **  
** **

“JEAN KIRSTEIN!” ** **  
** **

A thunderous roar from down the hall shook the floor like an earthquake, dozens of eyes darting to the smug boy whose arrogance promptly fell right off his long face.** **  
** **

“Shit!” ** **  
** **

As Jean leaped from the room like his life depended on it-- Connie snickering at the sight and Eren genuinely annoyed at the showcase of his inflated head-- Reiner couldn’t help but let out a soft cackle as the cadet clumsily bumped into several corners of desks on the way out. It had been a considerable while since he had had a good laugh, primarily due to being far too occupied with training or studying these past few days, so a moment like this after such a long drought was without a doubt liberating. It was sad, in a way, because he was living the best times of his life, and in just a few years, it would all be gone.** **  
** **

He knew he _looked_ old, but he didn't know if he was ready to _be_ old yet, let alone even get to _grow_ old...

“So, Reiner,” Connie interrupted his train of thought, continuing on in a quieter murmur, “Why _ did _ you wanna become a soldier? I realised I’ve never actually asked you.” ** **  
** **

“Huh? Oh.” Reiner broke away from his smaller comrade's gaze, “I just… have a duty to take back my hometown, that’s all.”** **  
** **

His smile fell into a frown, and then suddenly, he felt… strange. That liberating feeling from before had completely washed away, and it was like he was wrapped up in chains again, with a far too familiar weight resting on his shoulders, except… he had no idea _why_ he felt this way so abruptly, in the middle of the morning. He hadn’t felt particularly sad about his duty as a _ soldier, _ or about returning to his study, and yet his head felt a thousand bricks heavier, a pressure at the back of his skull so intense that it made him want to vomit. ** **  
** **

_ What’s… happening…? _ ** **  
** **

“Ah, yeah. I remember now. You and █████████, right?”** **  
** **

Reiner furrowed his brows at the gibberish uttered out from Connie’s tongue-- it almost resembled a foreign language that he had never heard before.** **  
** **

“H- huh...?” ** **  
** **

“█████████...?” The smaller soldier raised a brow, “You both came from the same place, right? At least that’s what I heard.”** **  
** **

“Er…” ** **  
** **

His temples were aching, the pressure was getting so heavy that he thought he might just faint in his seat.** **  
** **

Reiner took a sharp breath, his eyes darting around the room that now felt so _ unreal, _ and so _ unsafe. _ He wanted to dash outside for just a sliver of fresher air, air that wasn’t as suffocating as the tension around him. He wanted to… escape, but he still couldn’t understand _ why, _ or what was happening in the first place. It was as if there were an invisible threat-- lurking, stalking, waiting for him to present his weak spot. He wondered for a moment if this was the ‘gut feeling’ that Sasha always went on about. ** **  
** **

“C- can you say that again…?”** **  
** **

Connie paused, staring at him with a look of notable concern and puzzlement, “Uh…”** **  
** **

A hand suddenly fell onto Reiner’s shoulder, and what followed after came a bizarre, distorted noise that just about resembled a human voice but... sputtered unintelligible gibberish, the same gibberish that had come out from Connie’s mouth.** **  
** **

“██at’s █igh█, ██████…!” The voice said, “██’██ ████████ ██ ██ ████ ████████!”** **  
** **

Reiner spun to meet the way of the noise, only to come face to face with… something his eyes couldn’t make any sense of. There, next to him, sat some sort of creature with enough human features to identify as some humanoid_ thing-- _ its skin fleshy and tan, and it had long lanky limbs, twirling fingers even, but... its face was completely devoid of any sort of familiarity, bearing no nose, no eyes, no mouth. Just… bare, and blurred, and if it _ did _ have eyes, he felt like it would be staring him down at that very moment. ** **  
** **

He wanted to feel scared, because this uncanny… _ thing, _ had been more terrifying than any titan he’d ever seen in all of his nightmares. ** **  
** **

_ Is this a nightmare? _ ** **  
** **

He couldn’t feel scared, at least not fully. It was like he could instinctively feel like this _ thing... _was sad somehow. Sure, it was paralysing him with such jaw-dropping terror that all the little hairs rose on the back of his neck and over both of his forearms, but… it wasn’t a dangerous _thing,_ he knew that much. Its melancholy alone shone through everything else, forcing out his own sadness in return. ** **  
** **

“...Huh?”** **  
** **

A slicing pinch flared abruptly into Reiner’s head, forcing it down into his hands with a hiss of pain. The whole world was spinning, and every noise around him from Eren’s tapping foot to the scrape of lead scratching against paper sounded as though it reverberated throughout all the halls of the building they were in, throughout all trees on their training grounds, throughout all the mountain valleys at the horizon, and throughout the vast sky above them. It was all _too loud,_ and his head felt like it was just about due to explode. ** **  
** **

“Oi, Reiner,” Connie placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as Eren and several other cadets watched with concern, “Are you okay?”** **  
** **

“Yeah… Yeah, I just…” He massaged both of his temples with his thumbs, his eyes sealed tight from the reality around him before he then slowly raised his head to face his consoling friends, “I just thought I…”** **  
** **

But, when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in that very lecture hall, taking down notes, being yelled at by a training instructor, or suffering a random migraine. He was no longer surrounded by any of his friends or that… _ thing _ that attempted to communicate with him. Instead, he found himself in a dark room, shivering cold, with a trembling silhouette at his feet. ** **  
** **

He must have gotten lost in his thoughts again, because for the life of him, he couldn’t remember the walk to the cell he was standing in, let alone the cell itself. Everything in his mind was shrouded in fog, as if lost in limbo with a returning heaviness nesting back into his skull that made him want to crash it against the stone wall beside him. Reiner cast his eyes about, in search of any clue about where he could have wandered off to.** **  
** **

_ Where… am I? _ ** **  
** **

There were stains on the ground, a trail of bloody footprints roaming back and forth from wall to wall that eventually lead to where he was standing, and when he looked to the silhouette’s dimly lit feet-- red and bare-- he knew it must have been him that had been pacing for hours on end. ** **  
** **

_ He’s… a prisoner. _ _No… _

_He’s a traitor. _

This… traitor, panting and cowering beneath him, began to very faintly steam from various parts of his body. Reiner then furrowed a brow.** **  
** **

_ That’s right… _ ** **  
** **

_ That’s… the Colossal Titan. _ ** **  
** **

He slammed his boot down into the _ titan _ beneath him, a yelp bursting throughout the room. It was routine at this point-- every few days _ they _ would walk him down that tediously long hall with only one mission in mind, and if he did exactly as they demanded, then he’d be permitted feasable dinner, a warm bed, a shower or a bath, and clean clothes in his size, not to mention the competent haircut they offered him as an ‘extra treat’ for his... service. And all he needed to do was… ** **  
** **

Another stomp, this time aimed at the traitor’s shoulders, pushing him flat against the ground.** **  
** **

...This.** **  
** **

He wanted to know why they kept bringing him here, forcing him to do the same thing over and over again, even though he already did his part to make this _ traitor _ confess. He was still thoroughly exhausted from the last ‘session’ two days before, so much so that he could barely even balance himself properly, wobbling to and fro on his feet like a drunken man. It didn’t help much that the food they fed him made him nauseous and feverous most nights-- stale and at times rotted leftovers from the dinners up in the mess hall, the very same dinners he should have been a part of... ** **  
** **

But, if beating a traitor senseless was what it took to prove his innocence, to make it so that he didn’t have to bear any more nails being torn off or scabs from flayed skin and severe burns littering his body, then… so be it. Even still, he just wished they would at least explain _ something _ to him, especially if he was trusted enough to be left alone with the supposed traitor in the first place. 

He wanted to see his friends more than all else, and he wanted to laugh again, to know what he did to deserve _ any _ of this. He’d _ kill _ just to see the sun rise every morning, or the sound of noisy crowds in the markets, or the cries of the geese amongst the clouds. ** **  
** **

It didn’t feel good-- being the torturer-- despite the other soldiers praising him after his sessions were completed, and him feigning a laugh in response merely to receive a bed for that night, the same bed he would toss and turn in for hours on end before succumbing to another nightmare. ** **  
** **

This _ duty… _ was merely something that needed to be done. He was too tired to feel vengeful, let alone think about _ anything _ for that matter. Every action he did felt as if it were lagging five seconds behind him, double vision clouding his view as his fists collided with this… sack of meat. His thoughts echoed outside of his head like exterior voices, and he felt… like a machine, like he wasn’t even a part of his body, like he was simply observing, carrying out commands like an obedient dog, or a tiny cog in a much larger contraption. He didn’t exactly think about what he was doing, he just _ did_. ** **  
** **

Reiner fought the urge to collapse right then as he lodged another foot into the traitor's stomach, a wheeze for air and a violent coughing fit immediately following the impact. He gazed down at the grovelling figure, bemused, the lantern in the room very slightly allowing for a clearer view.** **  
** **

_ This… _ was the Colossal Titan. At least that was what they had told him. But after getting a closer look at this… beaten pulp of a human, shrivelled up and shaking like a mauled animal that refused to even defend itself, it was growing increasingly harder to believe. ** **  
** **

There was no use questioning it, though, he couldn’t afford to go against their word right now. He couldn’t even afford to think about whether he was brutalising the wrong guy. He just wanted out.** **  
** **

Reiner took the traitor by his torn collar, scanning the disfigured face before him. Where would he aim this time around? The jaw would be ideal, for it would hurt less for his knuckles, but the cheekbones haven’t been touched yet and were completely devoid of any bruises or blood. He didn't want to give _them_ any reason to think he was going soft. ** **  
** **

He pulled back his balled fist for another devastating blow, but to his bewilderment, the traitor’s puffy face crinkled like a prune-- tears flooding down his cheeks.** **  
** **

_ He’s… crying? _ ** **  
** **

_ The Colossal Titan… is crying. _ ** **  
** **

Reiner blinked, completely taken aback.** **  
** **

_ Why… is he crying? _ ** **  
** **

_ Doesn’t he know what he did? _ ** **  
** **

_ All those innocent people, tens of thousands, devoured because of him. _ ** **  
** **

His grasp on the traitor’s collar only clenched tighter the longer he lingered in his own thoughts.** **  
** **

_ Eren’s mother… _ ** _devoured_ ** _ because of him. _ ** **  
** **

The sole realisation boiled to the top his head, the temperature of his blood a scorching fire that surged through his hot, clammy hands-- so hot that it felt like his skin might start to slip right off his bones. His grasp wrung so tightly around the collar that blood had drawn and seeped into the fabric, his nails piercing through the cloth and into the palm of his own hand.** **  
** **

_ My hometown… _ ** _gone…_ ** _ because of him... _ ** **  
** **

_ He’s… a monster. _ ** **  
** **

Reiner crashed his fist against the traitor’s cheek, a loud crack bursting from the bone beneath as though it were made of thin glass. He hissed aloud, recoiling his fragmented knuckles in utter pain, a shooting ache jolting up his arm with every little twitch of his fingers.** **  
** **

The traitor, who lay sprawled on the ground, had then rolled onto his side in fetal position, proceeding to weep even louder than before. Reiner felt his skin getting hotter and hotter, the ferocious fire lighting in his chest and in his face before he sent another kick into the traitor’s ribs, then another, and another, until a tingling cold sweat gradually washed over him and his eyes began to water. After one final blow, he irately crashed his unbattered knuckles into the wall next to him, his opposite mangled fist hanging limp from his wrist.** **  
** **

“You! It’s _ your _ fault, isn’t it?!” Reiner roared at the top of his lungs, the curled up body before him shivering in its place, “It’s _ your _ fault that I’m trapped in that piece of shit cage every damn day! _ It’s all your fault!_” ** **  
** **

He looked absolutely deranged, his eyes twitchy and hectic as he stomped down on the traitor’s knees, a high-pitched moan of pain following behind.** **  
** **

“If it weren’t for _ you_, I…!” His voice began to shake, tears rushing out from his eyes, “I’d be _ home! _ I’d… I’d be _ home…_” ** **  
** **

After catching his breath, his chest rising and falling raggedly with every enraged huff, the traitor only continued to cry louder, and as a result there came stifling laughter in earshot of the two of them, seeping from the other side of the door where two guards surveilled the halls.** **  
** **

“_Stop crying!_” Reiner demanded, gritting his teeth so hard that they felt as though they were about to shatter.

“Please…” 

The whimper was tiny, a hiccup with every word that fell from the traitor’s lips, snot and saliva drooling from his nose and mouth directly onto the floor. ** **  
** **

“P- Please… kill me... please...”** **  
** **

The words were slurred due to most of his teeth being scattered around every corner of the cell, but it was enough for Reiner to feel his chest blaze with the same fire from before, his fists trembling with absolute fury, “You… _ bastard._” He snarled, a threatening smirk on his face, “You murdered... _all_ those people. You took my _ hometown_, my _ friends’ _ hometowns. And now you’re begging for _mercy…?_ You...” ** **  
** **

“I- I told them… everything!” The traitor promptly let out a choked sob, completely dismissing Reiner’s train of words, as though he hadn’t heard a single thing, “Reiner, I… I- I told them _ everything!_ It… it was all for _ nothing_…! It was all...” ** **  
** **

He couldn’t even catch his breath, practically on the verge of hyperventilating. ** **  
** **

“I’m… I’m never going home…” He whined noisily, pulling at his own hair in total distress, “I’m never… going home…!”** **  
** **

It all only made the soldier angrier-- angry at the irony, and angry at the horrible noise that shot through his skull and into his brain like a bullet, and as he went to pull this _ monster _ from the ground once more... the monster only bawled uncontrollably. Reiner had never seen anything like it before-- a murderer who took his home, bawling over not being able to return home as well, and for some reason, he almost felt… _ bad. _ The agonising, relatable pain of yearning to return to a home that he’d never see again struck a chord deep in his heart as much as it angered him. ** **  
** **

“H- hey…!” He warned again, his voice quaking with unease, “Y- you--”

“We were…” ** **  
** **

The traitor sniffled, his voice strained as he noticeably made an effort to hold back another sob. ** **  
** **

“We were supposed to go home together...”

** **

Reiner stumbled back against the wall, defeatedly sliding down to the ground with his eyes shot wide open. His heart thumped a mile a minute, and like a stuck pig, his skin had fallen a deathly pale as though all the blood in his body had been drained.

“Stop! _ Please_...” He pleaded, the very sight of the wailing lump of a human frightening him to his very core. He shot out his hand, “Don’t… don't say that…!” ** **  
** **

But the phrase only came again, and again, and again, against his wishes, crazed mutterings under the traitor’s snivelling breath. ** **  
** **

“S_hut up!_” A throbbing stab abruptly burst throughout his head, forcing out a hiss of pain from his lips as he sunk even further down to massage his temples that felt as though they were bound to erupt at any second. “Sh- Shut up!” He moaned again as the stabbing pain only increased in excruciating intensity. ** **  
** **

There was a ringing in his ears as he tightly shut his eyes, and then he was lost in the darkness. ** **  
** **

He was… back to that day, in the lecture room, with Connie and Eren sitting behind him, and Jean clumsily dashing out the door as the instructor roared his name down the hall. Everything around him felt so _ unreal_, and so_ unsafe_. He took a sharp breath, and his only urge at that moment was to get up and leave, to breathe in air fresher than the suffocating mugginess in that room, and... to escape. He didn't know where he would escape to, or where he would run, but he just couldn't shake the nagging urge to sprint away in any direction.

It was like there was an invisible threat lurking about, stalking, waiting for him to present any sudden vulnerability. Reiner wondered for a moment if this was the ‘gut feeling’ that Sasha had always went on about.** **  
** **

Connie was staring at him impatiently, as though waiting for his reply to a question he hadn’t heard or comprehended. ** **  
** **

“C- can you say that again…?” He sheepishly requested, scratching the back of his neck.** **  
** **

The bald cadet tilted his head, his impatience now a look of notable concern, “Uh…”** **  
** **

A hand suddenly fell on Reiner’s shoulder, nearly making him jump out from his seat, and what followed after came a familiar, comforting voice. Well, it should have been comforting, but his heart only raced faster as the voice spoke to him.** **  
** **

“That’s right, Reiner…!” ** **  
** **

Bertholdt cried out with excitement, an odd enthusiasm painted all over his face. But, the longer Reiner looked into his eyes, the more he could identify the insincerity, the fear, and the sadness, the same look he _ always _ wore whenever… whenever he did something like this. ** **  
** **

“We’re supposed to go home together!”** **  
** **

Whenever he… _ forgot _ his mission. ** **  
** **

_ “We’re supposed to go home together!” _ ** **  
** **

The phrase circled around him, around, and around, vibrating his head down to the very bone, until suddenly_,_ the lecture hall was gone. Connie, Eren, they were all gone, and he was all alone, falling into nothingness.** **  
** **

But Bertholdt… he was always there.** **  
** **

He slept next to him, even huddled together on cold nights because the island didn’t have any heating systems. They trained together, ate together, did push ups together when they were stressed out. That faceless, distorted, blurred… _companion, _ had always been there for him. And he… abandoned him. ** **  
** **

He was falling, falling, falling. And then he was on his back, in that cold, wretched cell again, a soldier dragging him away by his arms. Reiner’s head spun as he retched to his side, nothing coming out except for his own stomach acid and saliva. And as he darted his eyes around the room, he came to a halt at the sight of two guards kneeling over no one other than Bertholdt.** **  
** **

“Bertholdt...?” Reiner whispered under his breath, squinting in an attempt of a clearer view of the body, a body without a single sign of movement in sight. ** **  
** **

There was no doubt about it-- it was definitely Bertholdt lying limp on the ground with his face battered into a pulp and deep bruises around his throat, as though someone had strangled all the life out of him. The guards muttered amongst each other as they checked for his pulse, and at the very same time, a brewing surge of energy began to manifest in the warrior's veins.** **  
** **

He finally let out a worried roar.** **  
** **

“Bertholdt!”** **  
** **

Lunging forward, he shook the soldier off from his back and proceeded to charge away the two others surrounding his immobile companion, shoving them both aside with surprisingly more ease than he expected. ** **  
** **

“Get away from him!” He bellowed as he kneeled down next to a broken Bertholdt, tenderly stroking his disfigured cheek before spinning back to the guards who slowly inched closer to the scene. Reiner barked louder and much more viciously, much like a dog protecting its bone, “_Who _ did this to him! I’ll fucking kill you! I'll--” ** **  
** **

And as he turned his gaze back down to the warrior beneath him, he let out a tiny gasp at the staggering sight of his own caressing hands-- split skin and disjointed fingers, and knuckles so swollen that it had already faded a discoloured purple. It was only then that he took note of his opposite hand that couldn’t even move a solitary muscle, having felt like it had been shattered into millions of razor-sharp pieces.** **  
** **

_ No… _ ** **  
** **

_ I couldn’t have… _ ** **  
** **

_ I’d never… do this to him…! _ ** **  
** **

Reiner’s jaw hung agape, petrified with shock. He couldn’t seem to catch _any _ breath at all, as if time had stopped right then with his lungs expunged of all the air in the vicinity. The soldier that he had shook off of him-- the one who had dragged him away with his arms hooked under his pits-- began to lift him from his arm once again, leading him towards the door. ** **  
** **

_ This man… he’s… _ ** **  
** **

The man cackled lightly, a smirk at his cheek as he spoke with a distinct accent, “C’mon now, no need to see any of that.”** **  
** **

Aghast, Reiner could only lend a fixed stare at the man as he swayed alongside him, unable to mumble any words that would have been even slightly coherent. He _recognised_ him, and his hands began to shake. ** **  
** **

“You do know what this means, huh?” He pulled the boy away by his shirt, like an owner to a defiant dog with a collar, “It means I gotta do more work on you. We can’t have you goin’ off like that again.”** **  
** **

“_Shit,_ he’s not breathing.”

One of the soldiers cursed aloud from behind them, and as Reiner spun his head around to the horrific sight of the two frantic soldiers ineptly attempting resuscitate his companion, he felt his brain break into two pieces. ****  
** **

_ I… I killed him… _ ** **  
** **

_ I killed… _ ** **  
** **

Wherever it was that this man was leading him, Reiner had hoped more than anything else that it was to nothing other than his death, to which he would willfully oblige. It seemed like the longer he was forced to stay alive, it only lead to the more sins he would be doomed to commit, the more lives he would be destined to take, and the more pain he would undoubtedly cause. He failed as a warrior, something he was never worthy to be in the first place, and he failed the only person who ever cared about him, who ever looked after him, who ever… _ loved _ him. ** **  
** **

He was worthless from the very moment he was born, and he deserved every ruthless minute of every punishment coming his way, but... not Bertholdt, _ never _ Bertholdt, who was _gone, _ all because of… him. ** **  
** **

There was a hole-- black and endless, the same one from before-- that he was falling into the further he made his way down the stretch of the corridor. He could have felt scared, but he didn’t. He could have felt sad, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t feel a damn thing.** **  
** **

Instead, he was lonely, utterly lonely and nothing more, and as he descended down that endless black pit, he couldn’t help but feel that if the day ever came that he finally hit the bottom, he hoped above all else that it would _ hurt. _ ** **  
** **

He hoped he would _ bleed. _ ** **  
** **

He hoped he would _ scream. _ ** **  
** **

He hoped he would feel _ something, _ because the void in his head was _ starving, _ and he had nothing else leftover to feed it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not feeling very confident with this, ngl. But it's good practice so there's that. 
> 
> Also this ended up being very long so I'm cutting it in half and the next chapter will be the other half.

A door. 

It looked just about to cave in, as though the rain had had its way with it for far too many years. Its crevices spread up and down the burgundy, chipping wood-- blatantly painted by an amateur, the paint in question shedding from the cracks.

It was...  _ his _ door.

Everything was blank around him, a blinding white, cloudy vacancy that stretched endlessly as far as his eyes could see, except for of course, the front door to his house that stood there in front of him.

He placed his tiny palm on the knob, bronze and rusted, having been twisted thousands of times. It was odd to him that he still needed to twist it to begin with; the door swinging wide open with a noisy  _ click  _ at the slightest passing breeze was such a common occurrence that it had forced his father to set down their heaviest books up against it, merely to stop it from happening every hour of the day. They simply didn’t have the money to have it repaired.

With a turn of the knob and a peek through the crack, the smell hit his nostrils immediately. Old books, dusty air, and the mossy perfume of their potted plants at the windows. It was home.

“Berto?” 

A faint call from the next room over, his father’s voice weary with flem. It was a lost battle just to clear his throat, as he called again louder and it was still as weary as his previous attempt. “Berto, are you home now? Or is it the damn door again…?”

“Mm!” The boy placed the resting books-- the ones that had fallen over once he had walked in-- back up against the door again. He then pulled off his boots, yanking the one off of his left foot with more force than the other, kissing his teeth as it pulled his sock down with it. 

“I know you can speak words, Berto.” His voice was quieter, softer, as if it took up too much energy to force out a sentence.

“I… I’m home now, papa!” The young boy called out, digging his soggy sock out from his boot.

His father chuckled to himself before he once again hacked out his lungs, “Can… can you get me my tea, Berto? I left it down on the dinner table...”

“Mhm!”

“My legs are…” He rambled on to himself as the small boy took his giant mug from the tabletop, a steaming ginger aroma that made him grimace with disgust, “Just a little too tired for any walking today…”

Bertholdt hissed aloud as the hot ceramic made contact with his fingers, quickly tiptoeing his way to his father’s bedroom, a wary scan of the scalding liquid in the cup that swayed to and fro with each of his steps. He placed his free hand on the door handle and turned, stepping inside with a readied smile from cheek to cheek, a smile that slowly fell from his face at the sight of his fallen father.

“P- papa…!”

“Huh? ‘Papa’?”

An unfamiliar voice, and when he opened his eyes, there was a blinding light that fed the searing migraine in his brain along with the deafening ring throughout his ears. He hissed in pain, shutting his eyes tight again, and through his eyelids was a veiny bright red that felt just as blinding.

“Ah, you might want to be careful.” The voice warned him, a squeak from a chair as though someone was shifting around, “You haven’t seen the sun in quite a long time. You don’t want to go blind.”

Bertholdt groaned as he made the effort to very gradually squint open his eyes, his moist eyelashes blurring his vision even further. He could barely make out anything before him, aside from the vaguely muffled figure of perhaps his own wiggling toes— and a looming dark silhouette sitting alongside him. 

That was when he realized… he was lying in a bed. A bed above ground, where the sun could kiss his delicate skin.

A comfortable one, at that. It felt more like lying in a cloud.

“Sorry for the surprise. The nurse informed us that you woke up earlier but,” The figure lowered her glasses, swiping a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear, “From the looks of it, you probably don’t remember a thing.”

Glasses? Auburn hair? 

It had to be the Section Commander. The voice matched as well, although it was far less wild and zany than he once remembered it-- she was speaking from an eerily formal standpoint, and he had to admit, it was… intimidating. It was something he hadn’t usually heard or seen from her.

“...So, ‘Papa’? Was it about your father? A nightmare, it sounded like.” 

The Section Commander begged the question and with it, she rose a brow. Her attempt at sounding even the slightest bit concerned for him was blatantly disingenuous, “Ah, nevermind that.”

_ No, _ he wanted to say, _ it was a good dream. _ It was the first pleasant one he’s had in years, except for perhaps the latter half-- but that was nothing unusual for him. Most of his dreams that started off pleasant always seemed to end with a horrid feeling of anguish, with him fighting or fleeing or _ freezing, _ but this time he managed to wake up before any of that had the chance to occur. 

Suddenly, the Section Commander moved up from her seat, and in response he yanked at the bindings holding down his wrists, a panicked whimper into the cloth that had been stuffed to the back of his throat with a chain gag across his lips to hold it in place. Bertholdt shot open his eyes at the realization that he was completely bound and helpless to whatever they wanted to do to him, and he let out a groan of despair at that thought alone-- for his trapped position awfully resembled those long evenings of dissection...

“Oh, no need to fret. I’m just checking in. But you had me worried, you know.” She held up her hand, as if insulted that he would think of her in such a bad manner. “After you stopped healing, I thought you were a goner, but it turns out you just needed time. It’s amazing, what that ability of yours can do… I still can’t fully wrap my head around it. Simply amazing.”

Bertholdt continued to tug at his bound wrists and ankles, but no matter what, he was unable to move even a single muscle aside from his head and eyes. Sweat began to roll down his temple and onto the pillow laid beneath him, a glistening shine at his clammy forehead as the spotlight of the sun shone onto his face.

“Oh, that? It’s just for precaution. You’re just stressing yourself out by struggling.” She pointed to the bindings in question before waving her dismissive hand, “It may seem a little extreme to you, but your case  _ is _ a little extreme, don’t you agree?”

Hange only observed in silence-- much like a patient mother to a child throwing a tantrum, or a scientist to a rat-- as he slowly but finally halted his pointless struggle, instead moving on to catch his own breath, his chest rising and falling raggedly with every exhale. He eventually darted his uneasy eyes in her direction before she cleared her throat, satisfied with his response and leisurely leaning back in her chair, “Now then, you’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

“Well, to put it short, it’s... a proposal.” She started, crossing her ankles together as she stretched them out in front of her. This came to be useless however, because she stood up from her seat immediately afterwards, restlessly pacing back and forth until pausing to peek out from the curtains. “You see, a lot has gone down these past few weeks, and if everything you’ve told us is true, then you’ve helped us out quite a bit. And that’s not even including the experiments. I mean, you  _ alone  _ advanced our understanding of modern medicine by at least a few decades.”

Bertholdt’s face fell, and he shuddered at the thought of those endless sessions on an icy operating table, the cold burning cut of his flesh and the animalistic screaming that followed it. 

Hange widened her eyes ever so slightly, turning towards him from the view of the window.

“Ah… right. Sorry about that. But we  _ did  _ give you a chance to talk this out from the get go, and yet… you insisted on this fate.” She looked into his sunken eyes, dark circles burrowed underneath, and with that, he hurriedly blinked away-- as if her gaze was dangerous enough on its own to burn him. “It’s quite tragic, really. Had  _ I _ been the one holding the experiments, I would have at least  _ considered  _ anesthetizing you. But, I was busy with other matters. Taking down a government, for one.”

Hange pushed up her glasses, a light smirk at her cheek as a ray of the afternoon sun reflected off the glass, her eyes hardly visible now. Bertholdt listened begrudgingly, turning his head away from her as though to not give her the pleasure of watching the anxiety unfold all over his face.

“I’m getting off track. The point is,” She took her seat again, shifting the chair closer to his bedside with a piercing squeak as the wooden legs scraped across the floor, “It’s my understanding that there’s a whole world out there that wants us dead, correct? This so called...  _ Marley. _ The same ones who sent  _ children  _ to commit an atrocity.”

The warrior shot his eyes open wide, turning back to her with a look of puzzlement. Her gaze was no longer threatening, there were no daggers shooting his way but rather a look of pity, of  _ pathetic  _ pity, the same pitiful gaze one gives to a beggar on the street without sparing even a single coin. He simply couldn’t tell whether it was genuine or not, and that’s what picked at his brain-- was he that desperate to seek out any means for escape that he would willingly accept her pity?

“You might think you’re saviours, but… you can’t honestly be that… _ gullible, _ right? That’s just to have you right under their thumbs. You… know that, right?” Hange moved in closer, her lips mere inches from his ear, and a whisper cold enough to make him shiver. “You’re the same as us. It doesn’t matter that you’re across the sea, or how many years of lies they’ve fed you. To them, we’re all what you called ‘devils,’ and no honorary title is ever going to change that. Even after what you did, all those people you placed into  _ hell… _ you’re still the same as us.”

Sweat prickled at his hairline as she inched even closer, so close that he could feel her breath at his cheekbone and brushing through the strands of his hair. He continued to refuse her any satisfaction of eye contact, gulping down the frog in his throat, but even still... it didn’t seem to break her fixed target on him. He wasn’t yet convinced by this ruse, and he swore to himself, repeating over and over in his mind that he wasn’t going to fall for whatever… backhanded promise she had in store for him. 

And yet… his eyes began to water. 

_ Why?  _

_ Why am I... _

“You agree, don’t you? Deep down… I know you agree that what they did to us, to  _ you, _ it’s  _ sick. _ I guess that doesn’t make you as loyal to them as you thought, huh?” She prodded even further, a sickening sense of false compassion in her voice that made the pit of his stomach brew with nausea, “...You can still make a choice here, Bertholdt.”

The usage of his name alone made him unspeakably dizzy, his head swaying back and forth as bile ran up his throat that he was forced to swallow back down so that he wouldn’t completely suffocate-- the gag in his mouth now coated in scorching stomach acid that burnt through his gums. Nonetheless, he held strong, refusing her his eyes like a sulking child, and with that, she sat back disappointedly in her seat. 

“Hm. Very well, but just think about it. Both of you on our side would be better than just one.” She openly admitted, noting his visible distress as his clenched fists shook in their bindings before they halted altogether. Bertholdt furrowed a brow in response to her words, tilting his head slightly in her direction-- yet still denying her his immediate gaze-- as though he hadn’t heard her correctly. He shuddered at the conclusion made up in his mind as though there were a sudden chill in the room. 

Hange held her head up high, “Huh? Oh, of course. You wouldn’t know.” She leaned forward onto her knees, a mocking concern in her tone and on her face, “Reiner’s already walking amongst our ranks again. Of course, he doesn’t go by ‘Reiner’ anymore. But, he and everyone in these cramped walls want you dead. The only thing stopping an angry mob from ripping you into little pieces is  _ us…. Me.” _

Bertholdt closed his eyes with a sniffle, trying his hardest to hold back a sole tear from rolling down his cheek, his eyelashes stuck together with a glistening dampness. He desperately wished he were deaf; he wished Reiner had burst both his eardrums during that last horrific beating, just so that he didn’t have to hear her continue. He didn’t care if he lived in ignorance anymore, for the reality was too painful.

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking. But it wasn’t our plan to let everyone know about you, believe me. The interior didn’t exactly hold back when damaging our reputation.” She explained to him as if he even cared, let alone was paying attention to a word she was saying at this point, “...I know, right? You don’t have to worry about them anymore, though. Trust me, if they had gotten ahold of you, there’s no telling what would have happened. Even still, that doesn’t change the fact that the majority are calling for your public execution to boost morale.”

Bertholdt only sniffled again, and as a result, Hange lunged forwards, his locks of tangled hair suddenly in her grasp with her other palm at his jaw, forcing his head towards her. He moaned, shooting open his eyelids and attempting his damndest to shake her hands away-- but her grip was unbreakable, and he had nowhere else to look but her eyes. He shrunk in her hold.

“And that’s why,” She squeezed his cheeks between her finger and her thumb, and the more she pulled his head closer to her tea scented breath, the more he wanted to seal his eyes tight. But he held back, for the fear of what she might do as a result ascended far greater than his stubborn need to look away. He... was a  _ coward, _ he knew that more than anything, and he had been reduced to an obedient dog who couldn’t even move on his own, use the bathroom on his own,  _ eat  _ on his own. The very  _ least  _ he could do now was… play his part,  _ obey, _ and hate himself for every shameful second of it. 

“If you join us, we might just make an arrangement. Maybe you’ll…  _ disappear  _ in the eyes of the public. Perhaps you truly died that day in your cell. Then you can re-emerge into our ranks without a single soul batting an eye.” His eyes began to burn and water-- he didn’t want to blink during her proposal, as a matter of fact, he didn’t even think he  _ could  _ if he wanted to, “After all, most people out there have no idea what you look like. Even more so if your duties remain underground.” 

And then she released him, his head falling back softly onto his pillow. Bertholdt crinkled his brows as she stepped towards the door, taking harsh breaths through his nose as if he were holding it throughout the whole ordeal. She spun around abruptly just before the door, making him jump again, “This is your last chance to do the right thing, Bertholdt.” 

The door shut behind her with a bang, the click of her boots echoing through the walls as she marched down the hall of the infirmary. Relieved, Bertholdt exhaled softly from his nose, finally free to shut his eyes with ease and more importantly, without punishment.

It was funny-- he had spent presumably days comatose on those comfortable cushions, in the arms of that comfortable fabric, and yet... he was still exhausted, as though he hadn’t slept in years. He missed those nights back at home, when he had just gotten out of a bath, and he would jump right into his warm sheets, wrapping himself up like a cocoon, and proceeding to sleep like a baby. And his father would laugh at the sight whenever he garnered the energy to walk to his room in the mornings.

_ Ah... _

A bath… he missed those, too. His skin still felt like it were coated in several layers of dirt and grime, feeling so dirty that it must have burrowed past his skin,  _ deeper, _ into his bloodstream-- no, into his very being. 

He felt... _ dirty. _ Rotten to his core.

The memories played back and forth from behind his sealed eyelids, another deep exhale from his nose. They seemed to play in chronological order, like flipping through the pages of a book; the good… all the way to the bad, all the way to  _ that day. _

He… wanted to go home. That’s all he ever had to look forward to. Going home with Reiner, and Annie, somewhere where he didn’t feel so rotten all the time. Sure, it would be a short life, but at least they would be together, and he would see his father again-- alive and well. 

And besides, a short life wasn’t so bad. He couldn’t live with these sins for any longer anyway-- he would have ended it all sooner or later, if ever given an average life span. Perhaps it was always a good thing that he only had a few years left of his term…

Bertholdt shook the thought out of his head. It wasn’t like him to think that way, at least not until recently.

...No, that’s a lie. 

When had he ever truly been… happy?

He was exhausted, and he wanted _ out. _ Perhaps this was the feeling Reiner felt before he…

Before he did what he did-- entering his cell and beating him senseless. Maybe that truly  _ was  _ the only way out for him, the only way for him to find peace.

Bertholdt shuddered.

Hange had offered him the same freedom as Reiner. He would get a bed every night, and a hot dinner, and a steaming bath so that he could jump into that very bed and wrap himself up in a cocoon like he was six years old again, and, and, and…

And his father would come in and laugh like he always did…

His father…

He recalled back to that dream-- no… it was a memory. It had to be.

He had opened that door with a steaming cup of ginger tea in his hand, and there on the floor leaning up against the bed, was none other than his father curled over with his own crimson vomit rolling from his chin down to his neck-- a pungent, metallic scent filling the air and staining the wooly carpet beneath him.

“P- Papa!” 

The tea had spilled onto his toes, forcing the cup out from his hands with a yelp as it crashed against the floor.

Bertholdt clenched his fists.

_ Never. _

He’d never accept their freedom, for it meant nothing to him if it didn’t involve his father, his hometown, his… Reiner. It meant nothing, and he would die every horrible death, scream through thousands upon thousands types of torture, over and over again before he ever accepted it. They made a promise, and he wasn’t going to throw it all away for just a few years of false relief. 

He was going to die here, he knew that much. He knew he would never make it home, would never see his father again, or Reiner, or Annie. He was going to die here-- but he was going to die a warrior, he was going to die a monster, he was going to die… rotten.

Suddenly, there was a rough flick at his nose, forcing his eyes open to face the daunting figure towering alongside his bed. Startled, he yanked again at his bound wrists with a stifled gasp, a sorry attempt to break free before… before he managed to take a second glance at the figure, who merely raised a judging brow, the window behind her cracked much wider than he remembered and with it bringing a cutting breeze.

_ Is that…? _

Bertholdt only furrowed his brows, squinting as though trying to decipher whether or not she was simply a figment of his imagination-- his chronic exhaustion often offering him only the most delirious of illusions.

She then held out her hand, triggering a surge of anxiety that thumped in his ears. 

_ This can’t be real…  _

_ It can’t be… _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends.

“Mmphf!” 

A groan slipped through his gag as her hand moved in closer to his face. Pulling away, his head sunk further into the pillow and his teeth into the soggy fabric of the gag.

“Shut up. And stop squirming.” The freckled face kissed her teeth, a lecturing hiss to her voice, “I’m trying to help you out here.”

_ Huh? _

And suddenly, the chain gag fell from his mouth-- not without leaving behind red welts pressed onto his cheeks-- and with it came the soggy cloth that had been stuffed to the back of his throat. Bertholdt sucked in a breath of fresh air with a wheezy exhale to boot, his expression later riddled with unease and confusion as he looked down to his toes in an attempt to avoid her presence.

“Geez, that took forever. My knees were killing me.” She begrudgingly complained with her straining voice as she stretched out her aching back, “I almost fell to my death, you know. Sure, it’s only two floors high but still-- you owe me. I could’ve snapped my neck or something if I didn’t stick the landing.”

The warrior widened his eyes, saliva drooling from his weakened jaw that hung agape with utter disbelief as he slowly lifted his head up to the girl-- the girl he now knew wasn’t just a trick of his mind. 

Brown hair, freckles, and a snarky attitude… it was definitely her.

“I’m _ real, _ Bertholdt. I can hardly believe it either. Keep your shock to a minimum, though. There’s probably a guard sniffing around the halls.” Ymir smirked at his blatant bewilderment before exhaling swiftly out her nose in amusement, “You look like shit.”

He simply couldn’t help it. It was as though something was pulling his mouth to the floor. And just then, his nerves began to dance, sending a prancing quake of apprehension down to the pit of his stomach. 

His gag… was off. He was free to speak, but… he didn’t know if he even remembered  _ how  _ to speak. The only words he had uttered since their capture were pleas, and cries, and screams. He was scared that he might start shrieking right in her face, because that’s all he knew how to do these days.

“Y-” 

Both his tongue and his lips felt quite strange at the first syllable of her name, as though it were a foreign word he was pronouncing for the first time. The word refused to come out until he felt he needed to physically force it to, “Y- Ymir…” 

“Yeah, it turns out, they don’t completely trust me just yet… despite the Queen’s blessing. Oh, right-- Historia’s the  _ Queen  _ now if you can believe it. What a fool.” There was a lack of amusement as she cackled at the thought, in its place a look of disappointment in the form of crossed arms, “But anyway, it shouldn’t be too much of a hassle to help from the sidelines without losing their trust. I did save their asses these past few weeks, after all. Probably more than anyone else.”

Bertholdt gaped up at her, confusion still littered over his face as she spoke sentences he couldn’t comprehend. 

_ Historia… is the Queen? Huh? _

“Wh- what a- a- are y- y- y-” 

He opened his mouth again only to shut it as quickly as he started to stammer, sighing with utter contempt for himself and his failure to communicate.

This was his first conversation with someone who wasn’t going to hurt him, who (so far) didn’t seem to have ulterior motives, so he couldn’t understand why the simple task of speaking was so immensely challenging. He should be  _ thankful  _ that he ever got this opportunity! So why can’t he… just talk…? Why...

_ Why can’t I do anything? _

Ymir let out a quiet snort, looking cautiously over her shoulder towards the door before returning her attention to him, “I still can’t believe that the thing everyone is pissing their pants over is…  _ you _ . Underneath all that death and destruction is just some stammering baby. Your folks really screwed up big time considering they lost-- what? Four child soldiers? And now they have to rely on… _you_ of all people? Yeesh.” 

Bertholdt only hung his head lower the more she poked and prodded at him.

Ymir was always the one snickering at everyone during training until Christa-- or Historia would scold her like a teacher would to a rebellious pupil. He  _ knew  _ she was like this, brash and harsh on all her edges, all those times she teased him about his big nose or for being so lanky and quiet, or when she would cackle as she pointed towards all the people that he might have been attracted to during his more… fragile years, and of course it was usually all in good fun but… this time, it just  _ stung. _ Because she was always right, even during those light-hearted training days. He almost wanted to hate her for it.

Why was someone so worthless, and cowardly, and pathetic as him ever chosen for a mission as important as this…? 

Someone so…  _ weak? _

Had she really come all this way to laugh at him? Perhaps he deserved it. He shouldn’t complain.

Shame riddled his hot and blotchy face, and he feared even the idea of muttering any more words out from his lips, for the unstoppable urge to cry was pricking both in the corners of his eyes and in the far pit of his throat. He did  _ not  _ want to hear his own shame in the form of a lowly stutter.

Ymir had to have noticed his trembling lips, and the redness all around his nose, because her smirk promptly fell from her face as fast as she blinked away from the warrior. Her leg began to tremble as she blankly stood with her arms still crossed, as though she had half-expected him to defend himself or to fight back and banter, but instead he just… laid there sniffling, on the verge of tears.

Swallowing her guilt, she turned back to him with sorrow in her gaze. 

“...Sorry. It’s a bad habit. I’d be devastated if something like this happened to Historia.” Ymir cleared her throat, both uncomfortable and blatantly not familiar with the action of apologies, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m extra harsh to my… er... friends.”

It was a small gift, but it did in fact make him feel better. He hadn’t heard or used that word in such a long time that it almost sounded like gibberish. Friend. He was  _ her  _ friend. He was  _ someone’s  _ friend. Someone  _ cared  _ enough about him to call him that. And it meant a lot more coming from someone as abrasive as Ymir... 

She observed him for a brief moment before sighing and taking the seat next to his bed, leaning down on her knees and seemingly laying out all her thoughts behind her eyelids.

“It's some depraved shit they’re doing to… the two of you.” She admitted with a pause, disgust on her face in the form of a curled lip, “That is, if the rumours are true, which-- who am I kidding-- they definitely are. Geez. These people don’t make it easy to like them.”

“D- don’t y- you--” 

Bertholdt attempted to speak again, only to stop himself once more-- humiliated, and sinking even deeper into his pillow as if it were swallowing him whole. Ymir however, waited patiently for his words.

“...What? I’m listening. No more games.”

He paused, gulping down what little pride he had left in order to push the words past his tongue.

“D… don’t you…” The warrior spoke much slower than he had hoped, the letters of the words in mind scrambled into a web that he had to pick apart one by one simply to form a coherent sentence, “...think that... we deserve this?”

Ymir raised a brow. 

“...Depends. To these people? Yeah, you do, and way more. You guys single-handedly made a single day for thousands of people a living hell. It’s pretty damn impressive.”

He averted his gaze with a frown, “Y- Yeah.”

“But... If you’re asking _ me, _ then…” She slumped back in her seat, “No. I don’t think you deserve this. At least not all of it. You were like me-- thrown into this shitfest you should’ve never been a part of. The fault isn’t completely on you, is what I’m trying to say.”   


Taken aback, Bertholdt never would have imagined hearing those words from a mind that wasn’t his own; he’d never thought of himself in the manner she was speaking-- implying that he was a victim, let alone a child. He had always assumed that he’d never been granted the ladder. Children meant innocence, and warriors were always far from that.

It was silent, and he felt the need to keep it that way. It wasn’t as though he didn’t want to speak-- in fact, it was quite the opposite. He wanted to ask her so many questions, tell her so many things, even the unimportant things, for she was the first soft looking face he had seen in weeks-- no, months, but… those stories and unimportant details were as trapped as he was in that damned cell. They were forever unspoken, veiled behind his eyes. 

An increasing fear built up inside him, particularly of her leaving him before he would gather any courage to speak. The thin blanket was moist with sweat from his balled palm that shook with anxiety at the mere thought. He would never forgive himself if he let her leave.

“The truth is, Bertholdt,” 

He flinched with the utterance of his name, and turned his head towards hers, who had been quietly observing his brewing anxiety the entire time.

“You’re strong. Way stronger than Reiner. He's a weakling.” Ymir snorted at the thought of the other warrior, and Bertholdt furrowed his brows as a result, his shoulders suddenly tense.

Why would she say that? She didn’t need to put Reiner down just to bring  _ him  _ up. It only made him feel worse for two different reasons. The obvious being that Reiner was most definitely not weak, frankly, he was proud of how much the warrior had grown over the years. Any amount of torture would break  _ anyone,  _ and it didn’t make Reiner any less strong… He would know. His oozing wounds did not lie.

The other reason was simply the fear that instilled in him with the badmouthing of the blond, almost as if a certain ‘soldier’ might overhear it and take it out on him later in the form of calloused fists...

“D- don’t…” Bertholdt swallowed, “Don’t call him that…”

“No. I’m serious.” She leaned forward in defense of her position, “There’s a reason these assholes went this hard on you. It’s because you can take it. He can’t.” 

Ymir caught the look on his face and took out her hairpin with a scoff, pulling up her hair to tighten it back again as she readied her cutting words.

“I mean, come on, you’re not the one who  _ forgot  _ who you are.”

He clenched his teeth. “I- I said be quiet.”

“I sure as hell understood him that day in the forest.” She leered back quickly, “I hit a nerve that time, don’t you think?”

The more she spoke, the angrier he got, but more significantly, the more fearful he grew. Her argument didn’t give him nearly enough time to form one of his own, and it was then that he realized-- he didn’t _have_ an argument. There wasn’t a single thing he could counter with because she was completely in the right, and it only made him angrier, as though he had deeply betrayed Reiner just by thinking at all.

She rolled her eyes in response to his blatant frustration, sighing harshly.

“Oh, stop defending him, already. It’s his irresponsibility that got you in this mess, right?” The freckled soldier argued, scooting closer towards him. Bertholdt began to sweat at her sudden and rigid movements. “I mean, aren’t you even a little mad? I don’t get why you bow down to him all the--”

“Ack!” 

Abruptly, Bertholdt snapped upright with a defensive grunt as soon as she had broke through his personal bubble with her taunting words-- that being, about a meter from his bed-- and almost immediately, he yelped in pain as the taut bindings at his wrists slit a clean cut through his flesh. 

Breathing heavily, he lay back down with both an obvious upset in his demeanor and a shaky voice, the confrontation alone triggering a rapid spike in the beat of his heart, “You… you just don’t get it.”

There was another pause before Ymir let out a soft chuckle.

“Hmph. I can see why they chose someone like you now.” She slanted her lips, “ _ Blind obedience _ is what you got.”

He knew that. 

Bertholdt sank his head. 

“...It better not get us killed.” The girl added.

_ Huh? _

He perked up his ears, his eyes much wider than they had been for the past several minutes-- practically prodding at her to continue.

“Geez, Bertl, you really think I don’t have  _ any  _ standards, do you?” Supposedly offended, she crossed her arms tightly once again, “What, did you think I came all this way just to bully you?”

He paused.

“Kind of…”

Ymir cackled, leaning back in her seat with a smug grin in his direction.

“The Queen’s inauguration. Less than a week from now. It’s gonna be a whole festival.” 

Resting her head in her hand, he listened intently, not wanting to risk missing a single word. 

“Lots of people. Lots of soldiers guarding the Queen or otherwise getting shitfaced drunk, not doing their jobs. It’s the perfect day to steal a loaf of bread, or maybe some jewelry that’s priced way too high, or…” She smirked even wider, “...Breaking out of a cell.” 

Rising from her seat, she paced slowly around the room before halting at the window to the distant view of military police lounging outside of an expensive pub in the midst of a game of cards. As she plucked a yellow petal from the hanging foliage and twirled it in between her fingers, Bertholdt looked up at her as if she were a living, breathing angel before his very eyes, her glimmering hair a halo in the sunshine.

“After all, you’ve already proven yourself to be a complete pushover. If they thought otherwise, they wouldn’t have even risked bringing you up here. That was their first mistake.” 

Bertholdt noted a hint of sadness in the way her brow fell, her eyes falling slightly as she flung the yellow petal out before her, watching it sway and dance with the wind, gliding farther and farther away from her. 

“Their second was believing a little distrust would stop me.”

He still didn’t completely know what she was getting on about. Helping him escape? It didn’t make any sense. Not because he did want to, of course not, but because it was… incomprehensible. It was impossible. Why would she suggest something that was  _ impossible? _

“But... but how?”

“Weeell, maybe I was exaggerating a little.  _ You  _ gotta figure out the whole breaking out part. I’m just your getaway.” The rephrased offer made him sink with hopelessness, to which Ymir waved her hand as if taking offense to his gesture, “Hey, hey! What gives?! Without me, I doubt you’d even have the energy to transform once you’re out of that hellhole. Out here’s a death trap-- it’s where you need me the most.”

The freckled soldier cleared her throat, strolling towards him and plopping herself down onto the weary night side table that creaked in response to the burdensome weight.

“Where they’re keeping you-- it’s in the capital, if you hadn't already guessed. In a quieter part of town. I heard it used to be old mining tunnels way back before they turned it to a research base. That means you probably have a long way up.” She informed, “I doubt it’d be as strictly surveilled on inauguration day given the circumstances, and even if it was, it’s mostly just scientists and rookies without much a fight in them. You’d only have to get past whatever floor they’re keeping you on.”

His face fell with pessimism at the news, and he leaned his head back onto the frame of the bed with a tired sigh. 

“I… I guess putting me in the most inner wall makes sense. It’s the safest for them,” He commented, “D- despite being next to royalty. I’m surprised the people here haven’t uproared…”

“Oh, believe me, they  _ did  _ uproar once those interior bastards let it loose. They want your head on a spike for everyone to see what a traitor looks like.” Ymir raised a brow as he winced at her description, “But yeah, I see the thought process. If you happen to bust open Mitras, then they still have Rose.”

He was silent for a moment, blinking towards the window where another gust of wind flew by, a handful of petals shedding from the foliage and dancing away from them once more. He turned back to her.

“And…” With a gulp, he forced out the name, “A- Annie?”

“Not a chance.” Ymir immediately scoffed, “It’s gonna be enough of a death sentence getting you two out. You want her? Do it alone. Hell, I’ll come to your execution to pay my respects.”

“Oh…” His face fell, “I… understand. I just…”

“She’s not being tortured, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She told him, “Armin’s full of shit.”

Bertholdt widened his eyes, “Huh…?”

“Look, I’ll explain later  _ if  _ we make it. But she’s fine for now, more or less. If it matters to you, we’re not taking Historia either, ‘cause no offence, but with Eren having that ability of his… then she’s far safer here than with those freaks in Marley.” Ymir pulled a small watch out from her pocket, flinging it around her finger from its dangling chain. “Anyway, we’re running out of time. The point is, you have to get out in less than a week and we can’t afford more than just the two of you.”

He noted the size of the watch-- it was smaller than any common handheld watch he had ever seen, perhaps it was about the size of a silver coin, or a large button. It was definitely an odd sight due to the fact that he still had no idea what time or day it was, or how long he’d been down there, and he almost wanted to ask her if he could hold it.

But, in the midst of his pondering, her words finally struck him down with the burdensome weight they held. 

She’s… helping him escape, but…

He has to somehow break out of his cell in less than a week? 

“W- wait, Ymir. How…” He shook his head with disbelief, “How do you expect me to break out? I… I can’t just do that by myself…”

“Of course you can.”

He stared at her with his mouth slightly agape, dumbfounded by her complete certainty. Did she even know the extent of his situation? She spoke as though she were writing a script for some dramatic play, planning for things that were glorious in theory but in execution...

“I don’t care how you do it, but figure out a way to find that brute and get him on the same page. That’s where you start.”

“R- Rein--” 

Bertholdt crinkled both his brows, nearly choking on his own tongue as the name came out from it. He took a breath, shrinking suddenly while he swallowed the frog lodged in his throat. 

“R- Reiner?! But… but how?”

“Do I look like I know?! You know that place better than I do-- the routines, the layout, everything! So figure it out. Stop playing dumb.” She scolded him with a hiss. They had to argue in the form of agitated whispers, but his voluntary naivety annoyed her so immensely that she became more and more tempted to raise her voice. “We need to do this on the inauguration. There’s no argument to be had here. We’re never gonna get a better chance.”

Bertholdt couldn’t stop shaking, his hands quivering like he’d just been struck by lightning. His head felt light, and his breaths fell short, an innate instinct riling up within him that told him to run, to flee, to scream. 

_ Why?  _

_ Why am I… scared? _

“B- but… h- he doesn’t…” He looked down to his wiggling toes in order to evade her surveying gaze, “He… doesn’t even remember me. A- And…”

Ymir swallowed, a sting of pity in her eyes, for the fear on his face from the mere mention of the other warrior was obvious enough for any stranger to notice, let alone someone as observant as she. She sighed, slouching over slightly as though dreading the truth she would have to inform him of.

“...Look, I don’t know what they’ve told you, but it’s probably all bullshit. You’ve probably always had the capability to escape from that hellhole this entire time. They’ve just been using that brute to keep you in your place.” She explained, and he turned to her in utter confusion. “It’s pretty smart, really. Pitting you two against each other, even for the long term.”

What did she mean? How was she even certain of all of this? 

“I’ve been eavesdropping some idiot guards for a while now. They like to blab about everything once they’re off shift. Mostly irrelevant information, but sometimes about you two. And if what I’ve heard is true, then Reiner hasn’t been doing so hot. I mean, he thinks he  _ killed  _ you, and they haven’t been able to keep him in check ever since.”

Bertholdt’s face fell with her words, and she stopped herself, unsure of whether she should continue or spare him of the dire news. She cleared her throat, “I overheard that… they’ve had to take extra precaution to make sure that he doesn’t do anything… _ stupid, _ if that makes sense. So it’s important that you get to him soon.”

Was… was he trying to kill himself?

Bertholdt couldn’t help but feel so… stupid. Stupid that he fell for all of this, stupid that he  _ gave in _ knowing that it was their plan all along to have him fear his only companion. He couldn’t help but feel like he… failed Reiner the most. He should have been stronger, he should have…

He should have stopped all of this when he had the chance. All those times that Reiner forgot about their mission back in their cadet days, all those times he spent with their  _ friends… _

No, not friends. They can’t be. They were their victims.

He only shook more, all the blood draining from his face. She let him take his moment to process what was happening, before he finally split the silence. 

“How… how am I supposed to… do  _ anything? _ ” He whined, distraught and desperate, “There’s always a patrol guard…! Sometimes even two,  _ or more. _ ”

“I don’t know! Steal the keys or something! Knock him out! You just have to get to Reiner!” She began to look more frustrated the more she realized this wouldn’t be as easy as she made it out to be, “I’m tired of your excuses. Do you wanna leave this shithole or not?!”

“B- But they’ll…” Unhinged, his voice shook as though holding back the urge to meltdown right then in front of her, the horrible memories alone forcing his attention inwards to himself before he shook himself out of it. “They’ll  _ hurt  _ me, I… There’s no way without getting caught!”

Ymir could only watch as the warrior struggled to contain himself, sorrow washing over her face as well as the tone of her voice as she forced her words out.

“I… I guess you’ll just have to get caught, then.”

“Wh… what?”

She let out a weary sigh, dread in her heavy eyes as she regretfully hesitated to inform him of what came next.

“Listen, Bertholdt. Some sacrifices need to be made if you ever want to see your hometown again.” She explained, “I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is. If there’s no other way without getting caught, then you need to take the fall.”

A bead of sweat rolled down the broken warrior’s temple.

_ There has to be… _

_ There has to be another way… _

Thoughts raced through his head faster than he could catch them, excuse after excuse as to why he simply  _ couldn’t _ get caught. The mere thought of him being apprehended by the cold, rough hands of soldiers sent spikes down his spine. 

“What if… what if they kill me?”

“They _ won’t. _ “ Ymir assured begrudgingly, “Killing you is the last thing they’d ever do. You’re way too important as a hostage. And now that they have that syringe, it just complicates things...”

“S- Syringe…?” He furrowed a brow, “They can--?”

“Yep. But I still think you can pull it off.” She watched, sighing defeatedly as he absorbed all the info given. “You know, I’ve always thought you were kind of a wuss, and that hasn’t really changed.”

Bertholdt simply kept his eyes down with a frown, half-heartedly listening.

“But,” She continued, and this time he raised his head, “...you’ve always had it in you to be powerful. I know you can be scary when you want to, in fact, everyone in this damn place knows it well. So, if you wanna get out of here, Bertholdt... I need you to give it your all, for once. I... no, _Reiner's_ counting on you.”

His eyes flickered to hers, glistening in the sunlight before blinking away with a gulp. He was uneasy, and he felt like throwing up, but deep in his gut he knew she was right. He knew this was his only chance.

Bertholdt clenched his fists, the silver edges of his cuffs cutting into his flesh again. It hurt, and a bead of blood rolled down his arm, but within his chest was a heat so scorching hot that he could almost forget about everything else around him. He knew he couldn’t mess this up— it was simply another mission, another duty, another job. He had to think of it that way.

“I… understand.” 

Ymir nodded with approval, “Then, it’s time for me to go. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Tossing the watch in her palm, she came towards him, leaning so close that he thought she might have been mocking the Section Commander from earlier. “Open your mouth.”

“H- huh…?” 

“You’re gonna need to keep track of time.” Ymir rolled her eyes, flipping over the watch to present him the time. “Pay attention. It’s exactly noon, Sunday. The inauguration is at noon, Friday. I’ll be at the south exit of Mitras two hours from then. I’m not keen on transforming until we’re over the wall, so try to make it there as  _ quietly  _ as you can.  _ Don’t _ swallow the watch. Now, open your mouth.”

He obliged, awkwardly, as she placed the object on his tongue. It ticked very lightly in his ear, and he could taste the metallic bronze that was akin to sucking on a coin. He recoiled in disgust as he then pressed it to his inner cheek instead. 

_ How many people have touched this...? _

As she stepped back, taking hold of the gag that she’d previously placed on the table, Bertholdt observed her with the same glistening eyes from before. Liberation was at his fingertips, and he was speechless. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or feel utterly terrified. Maybe he should compromise for all three.

“Y- Ymir…” His voice was more croaky than he had hoped.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Thank me later.” She mumbled sheepishly under her breath before he could finish.

He felt so ungrateful. How could he ever repay her? She was saving their lives,  _ his _ life, and she was being... so kind about it too, something he’d never seen before. But... she was also coming with them, to her voluntary death— her Jaw given to whoever was next in line. Porco.

Ymir paused, scanning his blatant distress before sighing aloud, “I know what you’re thinking, and truth be told, I don’t know why I’m helping you. Maybe it's because I’m an idiot.” She shrugged, a faint melancholy in her voice, “And... maybe I feel bad for you. If you morons hadn’t been there five years ago, then… I would’ve been stuck in that nightmare forever. I’m the only one here that really understands you, so… I dunno.”

They shared a moment of silence that felt far too loud than what the both of them were comfortable with. 

It’s risky. It’s something so risky that this may very well be the last time they see each other alive.

“Anyway, good luck.”

“Thank you, Ymir.” He spoke as she held the gag to his mouth, “...I’m sorry.”

“Huh?! What did I just say?” She scoffed, blushing defensively from his gratitude, “Don’t thank me yet. This whole thing might get us all killed.”

It wasn’t what he meant. He meant to thank her for caring about him, for seeing him as a person, but he was too exhausted to explain all that. 

She was at the window, leaning down on the ledge before vanishing from his sight without a single glance behind her. She had gagged his mouth again, the bronze watch covered in saliva near the back of his throat and a  _ tick tick tick _ in his head.

It was soothing, despite its constant reminder that he was running out of time to come up with a plan. There was also the worry that he would fall asleep to the noise and swallow the watch whole. Bertholdt shook his head from his anxieties, his heart pounding a little faster than it had been a few minutes ago.

120 hours. That was the amount of time he was given to figure out a way to escape, and it was his duty to make sure that it was the only amount that he needed. It was up to him to succeed. 

He's a  _ warrior.  _ There have been far harder missions in the past and escaping was child's play in comparison-- a mere preparation for the mission that would follow after. 


End file.
